Humbled or Humiliated

I am not sure how to write this post. Whether to be humbled or humiliated, to be proud or embarrassed. I will be honest that this post will partly be for all of you and partly be for me. Since about five hours into the race on Saturday a million different thoughts have gone through my head and they continue to race through my mind, which makes it difficult to write anything that makes sense. I may have to make sense on another day, but right now I feel as if I have been knocked down with a bat and am being dared to get on my feet.

As I was walking up a long hill somewhere between mile twenty-three and mile twenty-five I was trying to figure out how only a few miles ago I was feeling fine and running with the pack and then all of a sudden, or gradually perhaps, my body slowed to a walk and my will to stay on pace departed from me. I tried to run now and then and every time I tried I felt nauseous and light headed. I thought that I had been fueling properly. I had taken about three hammer gels with twice the sodium up until the three hour mark and eaten some other goodies at the aid station. I thought I was drinking enough since I had stopped to use the restroom about five times so far, but maybe I had not.

What was I doing out here? Where did I go wrong in my training? Why have I been walking for the past hour with no end in sight? I forced down another hammer gel somewhere along the way and it took me about ten minutes to finish the whole thing. It was disgustingly sweet and at this point the heed that I had been drinking was nauseating as well. One of the volunteers must have noticed that I looked like crap and had some water stashed away and filled up my water bottle so I focused on drinking that as often as I could as I trudged up the hills, and stumbled on the downs. A sense of worthlessness was especially apparent as I walked the beautiful downhill single track section through the lush green forest.

Around mile twenty I was on pace for a six hour finish if I could remain strong and steady. My watch verified that I had come into the aid station at 3:46 only a minute off schedule and I was still feeling decent at this point. I got my bottles filled, grabbed some goodies, and was on my way down the trail. On the downhill section the lip on my right shoe was digging into the side of my foot again. I had readjusted it three or four times up until this point and the downhills is where I was having problems. I pulled to the side again, unlaced my shoe, adjusted the lip and re-tied hoping that it would stay straight. I caught back up with the pack I was with and power hiked the up hill section the best I could. I am not sure when they started creeping away, but at the moment I can still picture them disappearing as my walk got slower and slower.

When I looked at my watch as the time clicked near the 5:15 mark I started to question whether or not I was going to finish the race. I had stumbled along like this before, but my cushion was slipping away. I had never been so close to admittingly giving up. I have never been able to picture in my mind what it would be like to not finish a race and I certainly never expected it to happen to me in a 50K. I thought that if I was going to DNF (Did Not Finish) in a race it would be in something like a Badwater or Hardrock or Barkley, races that are supposed to make people quit.

Here I was seven miles from the finish line of a 50K and I was coming to terms with not finishing. Even if I could make it to the finish line under the cutoff time what would that prove? And actually I did not care at this point if it would prove anything. At this point in the race I was wondering how I became so weak. People were passing my by the dozens and I stepped aside for each one and told them good job as they went by. Some of them asked if I was alright and I would say the normal ultra type responses like, I'm still moving forward, I'll get there one of these days, I'm still on my feet, I think I'll make the cutoff, I'm hangin in there, etc, etc, etc.

I began to get closer to the final aid station and started to feel slightly better. I no longer felt extremely nauseous, but when I tried to run I got real lightheaded and the nausea would return. I walked into the final aid station with 1:45 to make it to the finish and the last seven mile section had just taken me two and a half hours. The thought of a DNF had gone away and I just hoped at this point I could stay ahead of the cutoff time. I met up with another runner, Clay, who was in the same predicament as me and so we hiked up the hill together.

We had five miles to go and the next 3.2 miles were all uphill on a forest service road. I found out that this was Clay's third ultra and I was too embarrassed to say how many I had done to this point and Clay fortunately did not ask. We had definitely picked up the pace and because I had done this race the past couple of years I knew what was ahead and was anxiously awaiting the turn off which would lead us up a short hill and then into the last mile, which was a downhill finish.

It was a picturesque day and we were both thankful to be able to be where we were, although we both would have preferred to be done by now. We maintained a positive attitude and joked about how things could be much worse. We could be at home mowing the lawn, at work, or a multitude of other things that normally fill our days, but instead we were fortunate enough to be out doing what we love to do even if every one else had already finished by now and we were the last ones out on the course. We finally made it to the turnoff and when we hit the downhill section we began to shuffle, I hesitate to call it a run, but we were now no longer walking.

I had been walking for the past three plus hours and I was now following right behind Clay who was leading the way to the finish. Just when we thought we were going to be able to shuffle all the way to the finish line we hit another short uphill section and began walking briefly. I knew we were getting close and we finally heard the sound of voices. I imagine people who are lost in the woods for a long period of time get the same sense of excitement when they hear human voices. I am not sure if we began to move any faster, but I think we both knew that the end was near and it was going to feel so good to stop moving.

We came out of the woods and saw the finish line and crossed together with the cheers from those who had been done and were now relaxing enjoying the atmosphere. We shook each others hand and gave each other a well deserved congratulations and went our separate ways. I talked to a few people explaining my circumstances and being ready to drop out, but decided I was not in the mood for chit-chat and trying to save face and explain myself and why I was so slow so I skipped the post race food and went to the car and drove away.

I finished somewhere around 7:31, which was close to the bottom of the field. I believe I was 141 out of 153, or something like that. I saw the results, thanks Angie , but I was not so thrilled that I looked any longer than I had to and did not write down my time. I guess I am not quite ready to deal with it yet. This makes three discouraging races in a row for me with a marathon six days away and a confidence level that is near empty.

I feel like one of those athletes that has lost confidence and when you watch them play you know they have the talent, but you just know that without that spark they are going to continue to fail miserably. You can see the pain on their faces and even though they are trying so hard they continue to miss shots, drop passes, strike out on straight fastballs, throw interceptions, miss a 2 foot putt for birdie and you cringe every time you watch them, covering your eyes hoping that it will stop. Well it might be time to cover your eyes for awhile.